The Journey
by Nneave
Summary: Milady left for England alone, she tried to be better, someone without hate and anger. Yet four familiar faces arrive to escort her back to Paris, and to her old life. A story of the journey, but centres on an angsty Milady/Athos. This story was set post S2, I have not seen S3 so I expect there will be some OU, but in character, no xovers. Hope you like it x
1. Chapter 1

Mother Superior stared at the letter with a frown, unhappy with what she had read, but more troubled by her own feelings upon the matter. This particular novice to the order of St. Osburga's, near Cotonsbury, England, had always bothered her, although she could never quite define why. Certainly the woman had done everything required of her, subjugated herself to God, acted in a pious and humble manner, and dedicated her time to God's will. In fact, if anything she _over_ achieved what was required: when the prayer bell rang an hour before sunrise, it was not uncommon to find her already with bended knee, saying the rosary and giving thanks for God's grace. If required to tend some of the land, used for provisions in the kitchen, she would be there, before and long after she was needed, doing often back-breaking work without comment or complaint. But where her real dedication came, was with the sick. Many folk came to God in their final days or weeks, hoping for a cure or at least redemption, when sickness was upon them. Some of the younger sisters found this duty difficult; especially those who had no experience of men outside of their former families. Being required to care for their failing bodies required a certain sensibility, but also a level of practicality as the outcome was often beyond their skill. Many of those desperately ill creatures came to St. Osburga's, had been shunned or forced from their homes because of the fear their illnesses or disabilities brought. Yet novice Alisse, had not balked once: not at the sight of often gut wrenching injuries; not at those whose mind had gone and who could no longer feed or care for themselves, but also not at the ravishes and challenges of pestilence and disease, such as leprosy or the pox, from which the only protection for themselves, was prayer.

Every task asked of her was performed beyond all expectation, with no thought for her own safety or needs. Mother knew she should find the woman a comfort, a source of support and a potential ally when it came to guiding the newer novices and even the less able, fully dedicated nuns, but something about the woman made her take pause, and Mother had never been able to determine why.

Women came to Holy Orders for many different reasons; some discarded by their families, or fleeing their expectations. Others came, as although not a wealthy order, they ate regularly and lived unmolested inside the stout stone walls. Others came in answer to a genuine calling, and often these women were the most devout, you could almost see the glow of fervour around them. Yet not Alissse, instead there was a stillness, a distance maybe, that could not be defined, and which, even the Mother's gentle nurturing could not break through.

Hearing the soft knock on the door the Reverend Mother sighed, and put down the letter. It didn't matter what her personal feelings were, the decision was not hers; all she could do was believe it to be part of God's great plan. Yet somehow she couldn't shake the feeling that she was betraying the tall, dark haired, French woman in her care...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: Thank you all for your kind reviews. I must also add this will have adult themes later on, and so I'm putting a trigger warnings for attemptedthreatened rape and the reference to child sexual abuse. Although it will not be graphic, please don't read further if this will distress you.**

 **I intend to update at a minimum of 7- 10 days depending on chapter length, however usually once I get started it just keeps flowing - fingers crossed. I have the story mapped, so it is just getting it down, and tweaking. I have still not seen S3 (so please no spoilers lol) as I don't want to get stuck on another story line before finishing this one. SO after I finish, I can reward myself by binge watching ;)**

 **Thank you for reading xx**

Once little more than a church with outbuildings the Abbey had grown significantly, and as often happens, craftsmen, artisans and farm workers who came to work at the Abbey, had settled in the area, and a small village had become a small town, which had slowly spread out until St. Osburga's town now boasted its own blacksmith, miller, and tannery.

The church had initially just had two wings leading off from one side of the main church, but eventually these had been joined together by the infirmary, to form a large rectangle with a grassed quadrangle inside. The nuns and novices lived in the East wing of the Abbey and was a sanctuary, where no men were permitted. The west wing was used for honoured guests who made pilgrimages to St. Osburga's Abbey, and further outbuildings had been built to accommodate their retinues of servants and guards. Here, the musketeers had been served a modest meal of stewed vegetables and freshly baked bread a little after noon, knowing they would not see the Mother till after evening mass, they decided to sit in the courtyard and catch up on the maintenance, and small repairs required of frequently used saddleries.

Athos half listened as Aramis regaled them with tall tales of one of his many conquests; this time of a Duchess whose name he felt compelled to withhold for 'the sake of her honour'. He smiled, relaxed as he heard the bantering d'Artagnon and Porthos refute not only the truthfulness of the story, but cast teasing aspersions on Aramis's character and prowess throughout. Athos knew some of the banter was for his benefit. They had all felt the tension in him rise as they approached the Abbey, and he was grateful, if a little embarrassed that still that woman got to him.

As he worked the leather, he became aware of a line of nuns, serenely crossing the courtyard and heading towards the infirmary, he looked up as one approached, assuming she had a message from Mother Superior. It took a few moments for Athos to realise the gentle, gliding, movements belonged to the women he had once promised to have and hold forever, and with the realisation came a familiar lurch in his stomach, and his breath caught in his throat. As she reached them, he tried to prepare himself for the oncoming sally of words, but instead she stood before him, eyes lowered to the ground, just before his feet. Athos, barely breathing, opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

" _Please,"_ she said meekly _, " don't make me go back_."

When his voice finally came, it sounded harsher than Athos intended,

" _Our orders are to return you to Paris_ ", he told her brusquely.

" _But why? Have I not tried to live a different life? If you drag me back to Paris, you drag me back to my old life, the old me_." She paused as she looked him in the eyes for the first time, " _I am trying to be...better."_

Athos blinked, as his wits started to return, this was new. He'd expected a fight, prepared for it as best he could; after all, their relationship from the start was built on a fiery mixture of passion and desire. He realised a part of him was disappointed. When he didn't answer, she dropped her eyes and barely audibly she asked,

"Can you at least tell me why? Am I to be executed?"

And there it was, Athos thought to himself. This was the woman he knew. Back on familiar ground, he stood tall and repeated his orders, but instead of pursuing her case, by arguing and trying to negotiate, she once again lowered her eyes, and nodded sadly to herself. Athos said nothing for a moment, still unsure of her tactics but as he collected his thoughts, she started to walk away.

" _The King wishes to speak to you."_ He said quickly, not wanting her to leave _. "He believes you may have information..._ " he paused, ". _..helpful to France_. _To the best of my knowledge no one has mentioned execution_ ".

They both heard the unspoken 'yet', but still she gave a small, sad, nod and with a quiet thank you, was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Anne, was wrapped in warm and sturdy traveling robes, ready and waiting when the four men arrived to saddle their mounts early the next morning. Anne sat patiently as the men readied to leave, and with a nod from Athos, they left without ceremony through the broad gates of the Abbey, heading south at a steady pace. Thinking about how life had brought her here, wondering what she would do differently if she could go back. Anne rode slightly apart from the men, completely lost in her own thoughts and memories.

As a child, she had been so happy at first. Loved and cared for by mama and papa, she knew little of the world beyond their cottage. Later she remembered feeling scared. Her mother had been disliked in their village, although she hadn't understood why at the time. Her mother had always been so kind, so gentle, and so very, wonderful to young Annie, she hadn't understood how anyone could not love the small, dark haired woman, who filled the house with song and happiness. She'd been about 7, men had come and argued with her father. She hadn't understood all the words then, just something about a neighbour's cow that had died. Unlike her mother, her father had been a local, and these men were once his friends, but now they used the words she had come to fear. Gypsy. Witch. Curse.

She had watched her father die that night. Heard her mother's screams, felt her tears, and seen her pain. But Annie had not cried. For the first time in her life, she had felt vulnerable. Vulnerable, helpless and angry. She was angry that people had taken papa from her. Angry that he would no longer take her to see the ducks after church on Sunday. Angry that she would not get to sit on his shoulders, hold out her arms, and pretend to soar like a bird. Angry that he would not tell her stories, or let her curl up and fall asleep on his lap, listening to mama sing in the evening.

Somehow what was worse, was that they made her mama cry. She'd never seen her mamma sad before. Even when the other women in the village spat at her, or turned their backs to her, she held her head high, smiled and told her daughters that it was for God and God alone to judge another person. Mamma told her she didn't think God would be impressed by their behavior, and little Annie had thought about how those stuck up women, would look standing at the gates to heaven and being refused entry because of how they rude they were to her mama. Annie wondered if it was wrong to giggle at the picture of them huffing and puffing at Saint Peter, trying to defend their actions.

But after that night, her mama had never really smiled again. The corners on her lips would rise, and her voice would lighten somehow, but the brightness in her eyes had gone for good, and every time young Annie had failed to see the light rekindle, the anger had grown. As Anne rode unaware of her surroundings, she tried to remember when the anger had consumed her.

Throughout the journey Athos studied his wife, trying to observe something of the monster he had to believe that deep down, she still was. His conversation with the Mother Superior the evening before, told him she had once again fooled those in power. Reverend Mother had nothing but praise for the woman given the novice name Christine. He'd not challenged the woman's opinion, they were returning her to Paris, and she could do no more harm here, whatever her plans had been.

As he rode, he too became engrossed in thoughts and memories. Once, these would have centred on their time together as newlyweds; the words of love, the promises, and the passion they had shared. He tortured himself for years, searching those memories for clues he must have missed, wondering what he could have done to save his brother, his family, and their honour. He now believed it was not his brother who had needed saving that day.

He could not deny his role in creating Milady, his anger and grief blinding him to all reason as he refused to believe her account of his beloved brother. He could not change what he had done, but he also knew what she had become following his betrayal. Nothing could make things right, he had seen what Milady was capable of and he knew he was responsible. But now he had to be prepared; he had to be strong enough to stop her from causing further harm, not just to the kingdom, but to his heart. Yet sometimes, late at night, alone and more than a little light headed from cheap wine he wondered if somewhere, deep inside, was the woman he had once known and loved, and if she could ever really forgive him.

They rode for hours without speaking; Athos and Anne, both lost in their own worlds, the others perhaps sensing their need for quiet left them alone with their thoughts, keeping their exchanges brief and to the point.

At midday they stopped near a stream to rest the horses, and so they could eat a cold meal of bread and meats from the provisions the Abbey kitchens had provided. Athos helped her dismount, urging her to sit and rest, whilst he and Aramis watered their horses. Anne looked around for something to do whilst d'Artagnan shared out the food, and Porthos walked upstream to refill their water skins. Anne was no longer used to idle hands, and found it made her restless and uneasy. Knowing they would not want her to wander far, she started collecting berries from the nearby hedgerow, thinking it would make a nice end to their meal, and help their rations last that little bit longer.

Anne had not ridden in a long time, and she was grateful for the steady but not hard pace Athos was setting, but still her joints ached. The Abbey had been built on top of a high ridge that had been carved by a once mighty river, which though now a slow, feeble thing, was fed by the stream, they rested beside. They had spent the first half of the morning heading down into the deep, tree lined valley, before starting the slow, difficult, climb up the other side. Knowing she would feel stiff and uncomfortable by evening, as she worked along the hedgerow gathering blackberries, she moved her head and shoulders, stretching and groaning slightly at the thought of riding solidly for the next few days.

Having eaten their meal in virtual silence, they prepared to leave. Whilst the men retrieved, and prepared the horses, Anne took one last opportunity to move and stretch her aching muscles. Say what you liked about the food, and the rain, England was beautiful. Summer was slowly turning to autumn, and the leaves were just beginning to turn red and bronze.

Anne had deliberately not looked back when she left the abbey, wanting to hold onto the sense security it had brought her. But now something made her turn, to take one last look at her former home. She frowned at the smoke. Surprised more than the kitchen cook fire would be lit at this time of day. She bit her lip, wondering if Sister Louisa had managed to set the kitchen on fire again; which is when the realisation hit her. The town was burning.

 _"_ _Athos",_ she heard herself call, as she fought to quell the rising nausea. He came and stood beside her, following her gaze he turned back the way they had travelled. She heard him curse under his breath and call to d'Artagnan to hurry before telling her they needed to be moving, right now. As he turned to help, he heard her ask, _"Is this me? Is this my fault?"_

Not sure how to answer, Athos frowned. "We are not the only ones looking for you. Although you should be grateful it was us that found you."

 _"_ _Grateful?"_ She responded shakily, _"Do you think the people of the town should be grateful? How many more have died because of me?"_

He watched her thoughtfully for a moment. It was the first time he heard any emotion in her words, and he searched desperately trying to find any sign her concern was less than genuine.

" _We warned Reverend Mother Anne. We told her others come." He took a deep breath before he carried on, "It seems we underestimated the numbers and their determination to find you."_

Anne said nothing, and within a few minutes, they were back on the road at an increased pace. Dimly Anne knew she would feel every bounce and bump when they camped this evening, however her mind was on the faces of the sisters, and novices of St. Osburga's, and the families she had met in the village. She wondered how many had died, or been hurt because they had unknowingly given her sanctuary. She wondered how many more would die, if crops were burned in the attack.

In truth Athos was not feeling much better. He had warned Mother that others would come, but he had not expected an attack, nor had he considered the Abbey to be in danger. He knew he couldn't do anything to put this right, another of his mistakes he must live with, but as mission leader, he knew; this changed things. Instead of a two or three men searching for Milady, it seemed a party would now by hunting them. He wouldn't have attacked the town with less than 10 good men, although no trained soldiers, men and even women fighting for their family and homes, would fight fiercely. Someone will have spoken of the musketeer's visit, trying to save their life or the lives of someone they loved. From there it would not be too hard to imagine their route to the coast. If they deviated from the main road, it would delay them, allowing those following to overtake them, cutting them off from their ship. It seemed the best option was to out run them.

The next few days were spent riding hard towards the coast, stopping only to rest the horses at eat what was left of their hard rations. Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan tried to lighten the mood, but in truth they were worried, and their verbal sallies did not last long. For Anne, one hour of bone jarring, mind numbing riding, blurred into another and she tried to distract herself, mentally repeating prayers and catechisms she had learned at the Abbey. Despite her best efforts, every now and then her thoughts would stray to the man riding only a few feet away.

Of all the pain and regrets in her life, her relationship with Athos was the one that haunted her the most. She knew at times she had been the victim of powerful men, and she knew at times powerful men had been her victims, but she had tried to make her peace with her previous life, whilst living at the Abbey. Yet somehow, she could never get beyond her past with Athos. The irony was not lost on her. Of all the evil done to her, of all the evil she had been a part of, what preyed on her mind most was how close she had come to happiness and how easily it had come crashing, violently down.

That was when the anger had returned. Stronger. Harder. Colder. In fact, looking back she had been beyond reason, with blind hatred of any man who used, manipulate and discarded those they saw as dispensable. At first survival had been her only thought; then power, and revenge. It all seemed so pointless now. None of it had brought her happiness, success or even a sense of peace. The years of working for the Cardinal, in an effort to gain enough wealth and power to take retribution had really been about feeling safe...something she had not felt since early childhood: except with Athos.

For years he had hated her, believing her to have murdered his brother in cold blood. When she thought he finally might start to believe her, that maybe he had begun to soften, she had reached out, daring to believe he might still care for her. He would never know the courage it had taken to ask him to go to London with her. She had feared ridicule, anger maybe. Would he laugh in her face? Instead he stood there, inscrutable as always, and she yet she thought, maybe, just maybe, he would meet her. When she finally realised he wasn't coming, something in her had died: hope. She had no fight left after that. It wasn't that she wanted to die, it's just she didn't care either way.

Had she gone to the Abbey for absolution? Perhaps, but she knew it would take many lifetimes for her to make up for her actions. So instead she tried to cause no further harm. It was all she had left, yet even that had ended in failure. She knew some of the women she'd lived with would have died. Maybe all of them. Towns people too, would have been hurt and killed. It seemed even when she tried to be a force for good, she caused harm. She wondered if Athos realised she hated herself, far more than he ever could.


	4. Chapter 4

They reached the ship late in the evening, boarding wearily, relieved to finally reach the relative safety of the ship. Athos spoke privately with the Captain, explaining the need for extra watchfulness until they left port. The Captain was an experienced officer and assured the musketeer that they would be away at the first opportunity. With a nod, Athos retired to the small but private cabin he had been assigned. As he sat on the bunk, he realised for the first time, how much the last few days had taken a toll on him. Not that he was unused to hard riding, nor even really to being hunted. It was Milady, or rather Anne, who he was finding exhausting.

Yet he could find no fault with her actions since leaving the Abbey. She had not tried to escape, she had followed orders, and even helped with collecting water, and setting up camp, nor had she complained at the cold rations, or her obvious pain and discomfort from riding so far. In fact, Athos mused, that was the problem. She was being most unlike herself, and he found it: disconcerting.

She barely looked at him, rarely spoke, and never just to make conversation, always either in response to someone, or to ask for a task to complete. In truth he couldn't decide if he should be concerned about her, or infuriated with her. Neither Anne, nor Milady had ever been sheep. For all that he despised Milady, both versions of Anne were women of passion and fire. This version of Anne was... insipid.

He sighed, and stretched as he took off his boots, removed his heavy, outer travelling clothes and relaxed, stretching his long frame on the bed. Closing his eyes, knowing sleep was a long way off, his mind turned once more to the version of the woman he had loved...

She had come to live with her cousin, a priest whose church was in one of the villages on his Father's estates. As heir and local magistrate, he was required to regularly tour the various parts of the estates, hearing complaints and grievances, problem solving and generally ensuring all was well with his people.

It was whilst returning from one of these tours, that he first saw her. She was sitting on the church lawn in a pale blue dress, eating an apple, watching some nearby children play on a tree swing. Looking back now, he could see he'd been infatuated from the moment he saw her. She was not interested in the arrogant son of a noble, and told him at great length how she'd met his kind before.

For years after he'd considered it had been a tactic. That she was playing hard to get, making sure he was truly hooked before reeling him in. Now he didn't know what to think. All he knew for sure that the woman he was returning to Paris, was not the woman he met that day. Nor was she the woman whom he had rushed to try and stop from leaving Paris, just over a year ago.

Was this a ploy? He didn't know. A part of him wanted to believe it was. He wanted to hold onto belief she was still the creature known as Milady. With her, he stood a chance. A small chance. The problem was, if this wasn't a ploy, what had happened to cause such a dramatic change? Reverend Mother had certainly known this version of Anne. Could she have laid this plan that long ago? Or had something happened between Paris and the Abbey.

Athos groaned, knowing he would get no rest tonight, he reached for his hip flask to take the edge off his thoughts. He did not drink the way he once did, the woman he had condemned still haunted him, but she was very much alive or at least, not dead. The memories were still a mixture of bitter and sweet, but it was the confusion, and strength of his emotions he needed to escape.

He had loved Anne. Worshipped and adored her. Put her on a pedestal, and believed her to be perfect and pure in every way. When his angel fallen, and became another ordinary human, he had responded viciously. He had believed at the time it was righteous anger over his brother's death. Now he knew differently.

Yes he had believed Catherine. Not because he refused to consider his brother capable of such a thing, but because he had never truly understood how Anne could love him. How anyone, could love him. With the clarity of time he could see the bitterness Catherine had felt from being passed over, but not then. For months she had come to him with tales of Anne's supposed conduct. Suggesting she was there only for his money and the power and privilege it gave her. She told him Anne had another lover, a Gypsy who would visit occasionally, in secret, when Athos did his monthly tour of the estates. She had twisted the knife in his heart, praying on his greatest fear; that Anne didn't love him. His own insecurities and self doubt made him vulnerable to Catherine's machination. When he had watched Anne hand coins to tall, dark haired stranger, everything Catherine had told him seemed true. It was his pride that had been injured, pure and simple.

He had returned to confront Milady. Already enraged with jealously, events had overtaken him. The death of his brother was the final injury. He had believed, had wanted to believe it was part of a wider plot against him and his family. Catherine words still echoed in his mind - 'an heir would give Anne control should anything happen to you'. Blind anger had guided his actions that day. Demented with grief, guilt and shame he had ordered her execution, but not just for the death of his brother. His actions were revenge, for her perceived betrayal.

As he reached again for his flask, he could not help but wonder at his childhood friend's abilities. Had she somehow managed to initiate Anne's assault? Ah, Catherine he thought with a smile, you would have done well under the Cardinal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thank you for the kind comments readers. I'm still saying 7 to 10 days max for updates, because of commitments, but sooner if I can.**

 **Just to warn you, things will get worse for our heroes before they get better, but I am a sucker for a happy ending ;) Thanks again for reading xx**

Athos frowned to himself, wondering how he ended up here; on the run, trying to outwit an enemy he didn't know. He had joined the musketeers precisely so he wouldn't have to think, although , he smiled ruefully, his logic had been rather impaired when he signed up. As he went through the options once more in his mind, he remembered his words to Treville all those years ago – 'just point me at the enemy, and one of us will die'. Sometimes he missed the simple life.

...

The original plan had been to land in Calais, but Athos had convinced the reluctant Captain to take them further south, along the coast. Eventually he agreed to take them into a small deserted fishing village, where they could reach the shore under the cover of darkness. Athos had to weigh speed, against the possibility of a large ambush. He knew the closer he got to Paris, the more likely it would be people would be watching the roads and hostelries along the way. He hoped by approaching from the least likely direction, they would remain unmolested until nearer the capital.

They had arrived at the port in the early evening, knowing they dare not travel unknown terrain in the dark they stayed aboard until early morning, coming ashore in the dark, an hour or so before dawn. It was not a perfect plan, the horses had not enjoyed their time on board the ship, and were clearly restless to be out of the dark, cramped cargo hold and back on firm ground.

The small natural habour with its manmade quay had been the home of pirates, and smugglers until a few years ago, when a company of musketeers, including a newly signed Athos, had cleared it out. He'd thought at the time, that the solution was short sighted. Killing or imprisoning the current privateers, was rather like pruning the roses, so the next ones could grow stronger, however no one cared what a newly commissioned musketeer thought; especially if he was a drunk with suicidal tendencies. He'd been quite unperturbed about it at the time. Happy to come back in a few years and kill more pirates; or be killed, either one would work. Now however, he was feeling less philosophical about the whole thing, knowing full well the surrounding hills may now have filled with the next generation of smugglers and bandits. Yet, the decision had been made; it was a gamble they had to take.

The attack came as they prepared to leave, just before sunrise. Their knowledge of the terrain allowed them to be almost on top of them, before they were seen. Rather than the organised attack Athos had feared, the ambush was from a ragtag, band of about a dozen half starved men and boys, yet it could have ended so very differently. Not yet mounted, the musketeers had put themselves between the horses and their attackers. Athos ordered a surprisingly frightened Anne, to stay with the horses. As he and his brothers stepped forward determinedly. Those they faced were no match for trained soldiers, but their numbers left them vulnerable. For a sickening moment Athos, pinned down by two assailants had watched in horror as a man with broke through their line heading straight for the horses and for Anne.

He backhanded one of the men he faced with the hilt of his sword, sending him sprawling, before redoubling his efforts with the second. He risked a glance back to see Anne staring, frozen in terror, as one of the bandits approached her with his sword in hand. Realising his opponent was distracted; the man broke through Athos's defense, slicing his shirt arm. Angry with himself and fearing for Anne, he roared at the man as he pressed forward in a desperate attempt to finish it. The man stepped back, wide eyed with fear, he dropping his guard long enough for Athos to run him through. He turned and ran to Anne, knowing he would not make it to her in time, he heard his voice scream her name, and watched as she instinctively stepped back, still staring wordlessly at the grinning man in front of her with his blade ready to strike.

Athos didn't see the knife until it appeared in the man's back, even then it took a moment to register its meaning. He glanced around, and saw Aramis catch his eye. He nodded once to him, before moving to chase of the stragglers. Athos reached Anne, just as the dying man collapsed at her feet. She stood there shaking, still staring numbly at the body. A part of him could see she was in shock, but his fear for her had turned to anger and he grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.

" _For crying out loud Anne!"_ Athos swore _, "When a man comes at you with a knife, or a sword, don't just stand there! Run, fight, something."_ He fumed, as he voiced his frustration at this new version of her, _"Do not just stand there and let him kill you."_

She stared at him wordlessly, opening her mouth to speak, but still not words came out _._ A part of his brain told him this was not right, he'd seen it on the battlefield, and knew he was handling it badly, but the strength of his feelings, when he thought he couldn't protect her was still too strong in his mind, " _Are you even listening to me?_ "

She blinked at him, and finally seemed to focus on him. Shaking her head slightly, " _I can't kill Athos. Not now. Not..._ " she told him, trying to explain.

 _"_ _...All the lives you have taken, all the deaths you have caused and NOW you gain a conscience!_ " he cut in scathingly. He paused, he could see she was shaking. He took a deep breath, and tried to suppress his anger. In a quieter tone, " _I need you alive..._ " he stopped, as he heard the words, he had not realised were true. _"...the King needs you alive_." He put his hands gently on her shoulders.

Still numb from the attack, Anne did not hear his meaning, " _I cannot kill, Athos, I made a vow. I can't be her anymore..._ " as tears pricked her eyes, the last of the anger drained from Athos. He gently pulled her to him, _"...I don't want to be Milady anymore_." She told him, her voice husky with tears, "I am trying to be better; to be Anne."

" _Then Anne needs to know_ ," he told her gently, as he stroked her hair, " _defending yourself is not the same as murder._ "

She pulled away, shaking her head she started to speak, whether to disagree or explain Athos didn't know. He just watched her silently as she moved to stand beside her horse, her hand on the saddle to steady herself. She turned back to him after a moment, not quite meeting his eyes.

" _Thank you. Thank you for trying to save me._ " she said simply, glancing up at him, for just a second. He bowed formally, as a young Compte once had to a beautiful village girl he'd rescued from a group of rough looking Gypsy children. For a moment he thought he saw something flicker behind her eyes, but quickly she turned her back to him, and adjusted the reins and harness, readying to leave.

He stood for a moment longer watching her, desperately trying to understand this new incarnation of his wife. Was it real? Was she really trying to change? Could someone like her - like them - ever really change? God help him, but he wanted it to be real. He would change for her; he would change the world for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 **Author's notes: I thought I had worked out how to respond to a review, on the review page... I was wrong. Turns out, it only pm's the reviewer – which sent me into a tail spin as I think that might be a bit creepy. So I would like to apologise to the reviewer who received a rambling thank you via their inbox, and make a much wider, less stalkerish - although still rambling thank you to everyone who has taken a few minutes to read and comment on my story. Thank you xx**

They pressed hard, knowing the diversion had added over a week to their journey. They headed west, hoping to skirt south of Orleans, and approach Paris from the southwest, avoiding the main roads as much as possible. Anne's body was starting to become accustomed to riding again, and began to enjoy it. She had ridden horses as a child, usually bareback when her mama's family were nearby, or on their yearly visit. Before her papa had died, they would spend a few weeks each summer with her gypsy family. They were horse traders, and well known in the Gypsy community. Anne's grandfather was a huge bear of a man, who had been a champion fighter in his youth, but now loved nothing more than thinking up games and surprises for his grandchildren. Her own Papa came from a small family, and although Anne loved her two cousins, they were much, much older and far too serious to play with dumb girls. In the gypsy world, everyone she met was an aunt, uncle, or distant cousin. Everyone knew and respected her family, and greeted her with openness and warmth. It was a stark contrast to the attitudes of the villagers, where perhaps because she was the image of her gypsy mother, treated her with caution and mistrust, even the other children. Here, surrounded by her mama's people, she heard their rich language spoken by different generations, as stories were woven by the evening campfire. She enjoyed the food and danced to the music before falling asleep in her grandpapa's lap; here she had thrived.

However losing her father meant her mother had to take work at the local manor house, and was not allowed time off to visit like they used to. It was bitter blow to a young Anne, who had mourned the loss from both sides of her family.

She had not ridden a horse again until a striking young man had bought her one as a wedding gift so many years later. She had never been able to put into words how much that gift had meant to her, how somehow it had brought her peace, bringing her back a sense of belonging and acceptance.

Athos had taught her to ride as a lady was expected. Although, he'd been willing to humour her when she challenged him to a race after only a few lessons, wordlessly raising an eyebrow as she'd removed the ladies saddle he'd bought her. When she had beaten him easily, he had laughed loudly, genuinely pleased by her determination and skill, he helped her down and they had made love there in a quiet field on his estate.

Even now Anne still found riding relaxing because of the memories it brought. It was one of the few activities that brought her any real peace in her soul, and probably the only thing she had missed in the Abbey. Even now, when she might be riding to her death, she couldn't help but be glad she had got to ride one more time, even if it came with the mix of joy and pain of being near him. She didn't know what she had expected from him after everything they had between them. From the moment they had met there had been a burning intensity between them, but now...she wasn't sure what there was.

The first time she had seen him, she had seen the desire in his eyes when he looked at her, and it had both frightened and angered her that another arrogant Lord thought they could have whatever they wanted. They hadn't spoken that day, but she'd watched him, watching her as she sat near the village green, and she had made a conscious decision to stay out of his way. It had worked too, until a few months later, when she snuck away from the village to see if the travelling gypsies camped nearby were family or friends who might have news of her mother. Although they were not her immediate family, the families were known to each other and they had shared food with her, and in return she had shared the little knowledge she had of the local area and its people; those who would trade fairly, and those who would send guards to attack them. Unfortunately she couldn't tell them much as she was still new to the area, but she warned them that the young Compte had a coldness about him. She laughed now when she tried to think of Athos as cold. Even when he had ordered her death, he had done so with more passion than most people imagine possible.

On the way back to the vicarage some of the gypsy girls had walked some of the way with her, singing and chatting as they walked. Gypsies were hated everywhere, they were thought of as thieves, murderers and slavers. In some countries they were actively hunted and killed, and although France had not yet made this into law, they were considered vermin by most people.

When Athos had happened across a young Anne, surrounded by a group of young girls screaming and laughing as they chatted about their adventures, he had misread the situation terribly. Only his own moral code had stopped him hurting the girls that day, believing them fully capable of causing her harm, his anger had been terrifying. Yet a young Anne had stood between him and the other girls and she had faced him down. She had been as angry as he, and she told him firmly he should not assume she needed saving, nor should he assume she would want him to do the saving even if necessary. As he realised she was right, he had tried to apologise to her, making her even more angry, as she explained slowly to him, it was not to her he owed the apology.

He'd stared at her, open mouthed, like an idiot for a moment, before clambering off his horse and addressing the other girls cowering, terrified behind Anne. She had expected him to become angry with her, or behave defensive or churlish, yet he had made a graceful, formal apology. Showing the girls not only respect but also concern as he realised how scared they must have been when he charged, sword drawn towards them. He explained that clearly the sun had got to him, as he had thought there had been a group of fearsome trolls, yet now he could see what beautiful and bright young women they were, and clearly he had been touched by too much heat and was delusional. As he expanded his description of the fearsome trolls, the girls had started giggling at him; clearly taken with him. She was impressed. Apparently he wasn't just another stuck up Lord who was always right. Seeing the girls start to relax, and the tension in her drop, he caught her off guard by apologising to her too. Rather than trying to excuse his behaviour as an attempt to rescue her, he merely said, he was sorry for upsetting her, and assured her with a half smile, he would never again assume she needed saving. He had bowed formally to her, before riding off towards his home, taking a piece of her hear with him.

She knew he came through the village once a month, and wondered how she would manage to wait so long to see him, but in fact he seemed to find reasons to visit the village regularly, even occasionally her cousin, giving her a chance to see the kind of man he really was.

He'd had a shyness then, that people sometimes misconstrued as conceitedness, yet once you broke through that he had a gentleness to him, and a warmth and generosity of spirit that she had delighted in. When he made her an offer of marriage within a few weeks, her cousin had urged caution, but she knew she couldn't love another like this. She had married him in the belief that he had loved her, that he needed her as she needed him.

When she looked at him now, she could see the same dry wit and intelligence; but now it was tinged with pain, sadness and self loathing. It hurt her to think she had caused such a dramatic change in him, and she could understand why he couldn't trust her. She knew he was lost to her when he had failed to meet her at the crossroads and she had tried in vain to reconcile herself, desperately tried to accept that he no longer loved her. Desired her maybe, pitied her, certainly...yet she just couldn't bear the idea he might still hate her. She hoped that if she did all that he asked. If she showed Athos the new Anne, maybe, even if he couldn't love her, he wouldn't hate her anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes: Sorry this one had been a bit slow, been a busy couple of weeks with youngest birthday, and end of school events. Unfortunately my 82 year old Dad has needed some extra care so we've been staying there for a while and I don't have a laptop to take with me, just a 15 year old desk top that I have to crank every morning – a bit like myself ;) Hopefully we should be okay now for a while.  
**

 **I have used the name of a real town in France, which has nothing to do with the actual location or place in real life – I simply do not speak French and was wary of making up a French sounding name only to be told it meant something rude or that I had called it 'town place' or something equally stupid. However if you look at a map it will be geographically impossible for it to be the real Chanez.**

 **Thank you for reading, and a wave to the new followers at the back xx**

Chapter 7

It was a few days after the attack that Aramis became aware of a noticeable change in his horses gait. He called a halt, and started checking the animal for injury. The mare had a loose shoe, which was affecting her normal stride, pulling unnaturally on muscles and tendons. Aramis could already feel the heat in her inflamed knee, and swore imaginatively. They were soldiers, and their horses, like their riders sometimes died, but no musketeer was ever casual about losing a mount, and a great deal of musketeer training included spending time learning to care for the animals properly. Each evening, or break, they would water and rub down the animals before taking their own rest. They were a partnership and a well cared for, well trained horse could be the difference between life and death on campaigns.

Athos joined him, a worried expression on his face, he asked, " _How bad_?" He asked as he dismounted.

" _I'll make a poultice, but she'll need to rest it as much as possible_ " he grimaced, "but _we have no way to repair the shoe. We'll need to find a farrier, or at least a smith"_.

Now Athos swore; once again it seemed fate was not on their side. With an internal sigh, he pulled out the map he kept in one of his saddle bags. By his calculation they were still more than a week from their destination, and probably two days from a large town. He knew small villages wouldn't have their own farrier, but often local tinkers or even journeyman farriers would tour larger villages and towns. The problem was they could miss them by a day or a month, as they came and went with the work. Garrison towns might be their best option, but would add another week and require them to head even further out of their way. Becoming more and more annoyed with the situation, Athos called for them to set up camp for the evening. As often happens when you are irritated by something, everything else seems to go wrong; this was certainly the case for Athos.

In truth he was worried, and annoyed with himself for second guessing his choices. Had he made the right decision by coming this far south? Was it possible the attack on Saint Osburga's had nothing to do with the plot against France? It was not unheard of for towns or even cities to be ransacked by bandits, yet deep down he knew he'd made the right call; he had to trust his instincts. Which he had, until he ended up hundreds of miles from where he needed to be, and now had to choose between further delays trying to find a farrier, or abandoning Aramis, hoping he could catch up with them, before they faced any real threat.

Feeling a headache coming on he tried to put it out of him mind, as he helped the others set up camp for the evening yet they could still sense the tension in him and in the end he took himself for a walk.

Aramis had watched Athos stomp around the campsite snapping at anyone who came near him. He watched Porthos and d'Artagnan exchange looks, but they said nothing as he went to scout the area. They knew this wasn't really Athos, and that although he was worried about the mission, they also knew it was the presence of Milady, that was actually causing his distress. For an intelligent fellow, Athos could be incredibly stupid sometimes. Aramis shook his head; he couldn't understand why Athos was so stubborn. Okay Milady might have tried to kill them a few times but to him that was what love was all about. Anyone could see how much she loved Athos, but then Athos could be quite stuffy sometimes. Aramis however saw the tragic poetry in their situation. Two lovers, forever drawn together, but forever torn apart. Both needed each other as much as they needed air; but neither one could quite let go of their past. It was a hauntingly beautiful love story, that would have damsels weeping into their pillows, and if it wasn't for the pain he saw in his friend he would enjoy the unfolding saga of a doomed affair.

His thoughts were interrupted by Athos's return. He could see from his body language that a decision had been made, and he hoped now his friend would relax a bit. He listened as Athos outlined the plan. They would head towards the nearest town hoping to find a farrier or smith there, it would only add another day, and meant they would not split their group, unless they had to. When Athos mentioned the name of the town they would visit, he happened to catch the reaction from Milady; a mixture of shock and fear. She rarely spoke these days and always seemed resigned to her fate; but now she spoke up.

" _I cannot go there. I cannot go to Chanez_ " she told Athos, with surprising firmness. Athos raised an eyebrow, but said nothing for a moment as she continued without meeting his eyes, " _There is a price on my head. The Duke wishes me dead_ ".

Aramis heard the 'ha' from d'Artagnon, who could not forgive Milady for her part in the scheme where Constance was nearly executed. He watched carefully as Athos's jaw tightened, his anger threatening to return.

" _Why_?" Aramis could hear the struggle in his voice as he tried to remain calm.

After a moment Milady lifted her face to meet his Athos's gaze. Aramis wondered if he could see the amount of pain, and despair in her eyes, as she told him, " _I killed his son_ ".

d'Artagnon swore, but Aramis watched Milady closely as Athos exploded with anger; she looked ashamed and incredibly sad as she briefly closed her eyes against his words. Aramis wasn't an idiot; he knew what Milady was capable of and though he believed she loved Athos deeply, it didn't mean he thought they could entirely trust her. But as he watched her barely perceptible reactions, he saw a woman who had lost all hope, and he felt his own anger rise as he Athos continued to berate and belittle Milady's past.

Could he not see how broken she was? How everything she now did was to atone for her past? She'd had the opportunity to make life very difficult for them during their journey but she hadn't. Despite knowing she might be executed, she has accompanied them without complaint. Not once giving them cause to distrust her. In fact, since she had done her part to help rescue the King from Marmion, she had actively worked with them.

" _Athos_ ", her voice barely a whisper she spoke " _I'm not asking you to protect me. If I return others will be harmed, innocents who the Duke will kill to get to me_."Athos said nothing. He stood motionless for a moment, staring at her in disgust before turning away and leaving the camp to cool off.

Aramis could understand why Athos was reluctant to trust her; but his feelings were blinding him. They all knew what she had done for the Cardinal and there was no point pretending she was a saint, but if Athos was to have any hope of peace he had to accept her past; if they were to have any hope of a future he would have to learn to trust her. After all, it wasn't just her life on the line, it was theirs too. Aramis smiled, he was a romantic. What greater glory was there in life, in song and in story, than to die for love.

The silence as they rode was deafening. Anne was now dressed as a musketeer in pieces of spare uniform, and with Athos's wide brimmed hat pulled down over her face. She had been quiet and withdrawn since Athos told her they were continuing with the plan, but now her eyes held fear and helplessness.

For his part, now he had calmed down, Athos was also quiet and clearly torn by his feelings and actions. He knew he had behaved badly, letting his anger get the better of him. It was only when Aramis caught his eye, and shook his head that he had caught himself and walked away from the confrontation. Had he not Athos wondered if he'd still be ranting like a mad man. In truth, now he felt ashamed of his actions. It wasn't like it should have surprised him. He'd known the sort of woman she had become. What right did he have to be angry? To be disappointed by what she had done? Was he not the reason she had needed a patron and protection? Deep down he knew that was the real issue. He knew for every crime, every death, the blame should lie at his feet, not hers. If an execution was required for the death of the Duke's son, it should be his not hers. He wasn't disappointed in her; he was disappointed in himself for still having her on that impossibly high pedestal, and blaming her when she didn't reach his idea of perfection.

She had told him as soon as she knew it could be an issue and had not tried to play down her actions. He wondered if she spoke the truth when she said others were in danger. He speculated if it was a lover. Another fool she had tricked with her schemes...

...But she had not tricked him, a small voice told him from the back of his mind. She had loved him and he had failed her. The question was, would he fail her now? Could he let himself trust her? Could he let go of the past? He wanted to, but somehow his anger always got in the way. He watched her now, as they headed slowly to Chanez, and his stomach turned in guilt when he saw her like this. Terrified and alone. He wished he could go back. Go back to find the young Compte he had been, and punch him right in the face for not believing that such a beautiful, intelligent, and brave young woman could love him. Then he would punch himself again for causing them both so much pain.


	8. Chapter 8

They sent d'Artagnan and Porthos ahead to secure two rooms for one night at an inn on the outskirts of town, and to enquire about farriers. By the time Athos and Anne arrived the arrangements had been made and Athos ushered her quickly into the room they were to share, as they both tried to pretend they were okay with the idea. Athos was relieved and disappointed to see more than one bed. He told her he would give her some time to rest, and that he would be back in an hour with food from the kitchen. She nodded her thanks, and he was gone.

Milady loosened her clothing slightly and took off her riding boots, to lie down, as her mind turned over events. She had become used to silence and her own company at the Abbey, where much of her time was spent in prayer and contemplation. She had thrown herself into prayer and worship in an effort to find peace. She had never admitted it, but she had lost her faith so long ago, yet she prayed everyday for it to return; for God to take pity on her and claim her as his own.

Returning here of all places after so long brought back the memories of everything she once was; of everything she had lost. As she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep her final thoughts were of the Duke's son, Jacque, and his grinning face.

...

She awoke to a soft knock at the door, and Athos loudly clearing his throat. Realising he couldn't call her name without giving away that she was a woman, she got up and opened the door to see him standing there, clearly feeling awkward, with a tray of hot stew, bread and ale. She hadn't realised how hungry she was, but a loud grumble from her stomach reminded her they had been low on rations the last few days. The each sat on their own bed, Athos had eaten downstairs, but he watched her with amusement as she wolfed down her meal. With a small smile, he offered to get her another bowl. She looked at him quickly, hearing the gentle teasing in his voice, but said nothing. She just shook her head and went to stand by the window, her arms folded defensively, as she felt the all too familiar butterflies.

He watched her sadly for a moment, his mind on his actions at the camp. As he stood to leave, he tried to reassure her that she was safe. That he would stay downstairs in the common room, as someone needed to keep watch and see if there was any interest in them. She nodded but said nothing until he reached for the door...

" _Athos_." She spoke tentatively. " _I need to ask you something_." She paused as he turned to face her, but she dropped her eyes and looked away.

" _I need to...that is...would you lend me some money? Please_." She glanced up, to see a frown on his face, she continued before he could object. " _It's not for me. I just thought, if I... You... Could get it to the people I've endangered, maybe they could leave. Just untill it was safe again..."_ She stopped, finally looking at him, expecting anger. Instead he just stared at her for a moment, silent. Unreadable. She nodded, taking his stillness for a refusal; she turned back to the window so he couldn't see her face.

" _How much?"_

For a second she wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. She wasn't sure if it was a trick.

" _I don't have a lot left after paying the Captain to bring us south."_ He thought for a moment, _"We need to keep some in reserve. I could manage some silver..."_ he saw her relief and her surprise. He took the address and wordlessly headed to the door, he stopped as she called him.

" _Athos_..." he turned back for a moment. " _Thank you_ " He paused to look at her for a moment and for a second Anne thought he would say something. Instead he just tipped his reclaimed hat, and was gone.

Athos considered his surroundings as he walked back to the inn. When he'd passed through 10 or so years ago, Chanez had barely been a more than a large village, now it was a large town, and still growing thanks to the success of the local vineyard, which had found favour in Paris society. Tonight however he had not visited the newly built houses, or beautifully paved market square. Instead Anne had sent him to the oldest part of Chanez. Where crumbling peasant cottages demonstrated that not everyone had benefited from the new found wealth of the town.

Athos reached the inn, and found a table in a dark corner with a clear view of the door. As he gave the serving maid a coin, he replayed his meeting with Monsieur Fournier. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but when a small, bald, middle aged man answered the door, Athos knew this wasn't it. The man reminded Athos of a field mouse as with one, wide eyed look he ushered him quickly inside.

He took the offered purse as Athos gave him the simple message: 'leave. Leave now'. He nodded, and said he would try, but she was as stubborn as his grandfather's goat. Now, as Athos supped his ale he wondered who 'she' was. A wife maybe? He'd seen no evidence of a woman's touch in the dusty home, just odd bits of cast off furniture and grime. A girlfriend? Somehow he didn't think so. As he'd made his excuses to leave the man had asked him how Anne was. Was she well? Was she safe? Was she happy? It was the seemingly genuine concern that gave Athos pause. His feelings for Anne were confused at the best of times, but seeing this man show affection for her brought out something else. At first he thought it was jealousy, and maybe that was part of it. But there was also...curiosity. Most of what Anne had told him before they married had been lies. Now he wondered what her real story was, and how she was tied to this man. Not a King, or a Compte or even a tradesman, just an ordinary man that she was trying to protect.

Of course he could just go upstairs and ask her. He was confident that this current incarnation of his wife would tell him anything, but something held him back. He was trying to build a bridge, find some kind of peace between them. To ask her now felt: intrusive. If she'd wanted him to know, she would have told him, so instead he sat in the low light of the common room alone and wondering. He would respect her privacy; even if it drove him crazy.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: Do you remember me saying it would get worse before it got better...? Chapter 9

Athos left the inn early to collect supplies, arranging to meet the others at the stables in one hour, ready to leave. Athos was thankful his errands had been short, as he was still feeling a little delicate from the night before. Being so close to the wine district, he couldn't resist testing a bottle. It had been far superior to his expectations, and he could understand why the area had prospered. As he started to make his way back to the inn, he slowly became aware of shouting coming from the town square. With a sinking feeling he cautiously made his way to the back of the large gathered crowd. Head down, he tried to see what was going on.

Once again dressed as a musketeer, Anne sat on a horse waiting patiently for the others. Aramis, d'Artagnon and Porthos were chatting easily as they saddled their mounts, until a terrified Fournier rushed in, breathless he ran to Anne.

" _Anne, he has her_. _He has her_." He repeated, " _I'm_ _sorry. I tried but she wouldn't go, I tried._ "

Anne stared at him, horrified.

d'Artagnon stepped forward, " _Who has whom_?"

Anne didn't wait to explain, she put her boots to the horse and charged out of the stables as fast as she could. The men swore and jumping into the saddles they tried to catch her, leaving Fournier running behind.

Athos watched as the Duke stood in the square as he dangled something from his hand, whilst one of his henchmen held an old gypsy woman up by the hair with one hand, a large knife in his other hand at her throat. He moved slowly closer, trying to hear what was being said. He could see the Duke was holding a purse and with a sinking feeling of inevitability he knew, it would be his own.

" _I know the witch is here. This purse proves it. Someone knows something_." The Duke shouted into the crowd before ordering his men to search the town. " _Unless she is found, executions will begin in one hour,_ " the Duke grinned menacingly as he pointed to the small, dark haired woman, " _and they start with her_."

Athos grimaced and stepped forward into the open to face the Duke.

Anne reached the edge of the crowd and stood frozen with horror. Before she could act she was grabbed from behind. As she reached for her dagger she heard Aramis's voice, urging her to relax and he would let her go. If the musketeers had found mild and meek Anne unnerving since her days at the Abbey, they found no comfort in the woman who turned around now. She was pure Milady, with nothing but anger and hatred in her eyes, and a dagger drawn before her.

" _Whoa_!" Aramis exclaimed, " _We're on the same side remember?" he said, hoping it was still true._

Mildady stepped forward, and Aramis eyed the blade nervously _"Don't try and stop me."_ She told him threateningly.

" _Stop what? Your suicide?"_ Aramis asked, not sure what was happening _. "You can't go out there, let Athos deal with this. He will calm things down."_

Milady glanced back to see Athos step into the square. Aramis, softened his voice " _You can trust him. Athos I mean. Give him time and he will sort it out"_

 _Milady said nothing as the fight drained from her. She allowed Aramis to take the blade as she held her breath and turned to watch Athos address the Duke..._

" _That purse is mine." Athos said simply. "I gave it to the woman in return for her assistance"_

 __The Duke surprised, turned to face him. In his 60's the man had once been of powerful stature, but had let himself go to food and wine. Not uncommon for a man of his rank, and Athos wondered briefly if he the Compte de la Fere would have looked similar by now. As the Duke looked him up and down sneering, Athos glanced around the crowd, noticing d'Artagnon and Porthos moving slowly through the crowd, making sure they were ready if needed His nerves settled somewhat. Finally he saw Aramis, standing close to a disguised Anne and suddenly he was less reassured.

" _and exactly what type of 'assistance' did she provide_?" the Duke sneered. " _It seems to me you could have found far prettier and much younger help for this kind of money_."

Athos said nothing for a moment, as he stared hard at the Duke. Ignoring the implication, he finally replied "laundry, and sewing. I had some shirts that needed letting out – you know how that can be I'm sure."

The Duke's face went red, and Athos immediately regretted his words.

" _So, what you are saying, is that this woman is no longer of any use to me..?"_ Athos started to speak but was cut off by the Duke, _"Very well",_ he said and nodded to the henchman holding the woman.

Time slowed for Athos, as he watched helplessly as the man drew the blade across the old woman's throat, smiling he met Athos's eyes, Athos watched transfixed as she fell. Numbly he heard his wife scream, and run across the square calling to the woman. Had his brain not been in shock he might have realised she was using the heavily accented Gypsy language, instead all he could hear was the one word he understood: mamma.

Athos glanced back to see the Duke grinning triumphantly, and with horrifying clarity he knew Anne was next. He turned and started desperately to make his way to where she was now sat on the floor, crying, as she gently rocked the lifeless body of her mother.

 _"_ _Why?_ Milady screamed at the Duke, " _Why? She was no threat to you, she couldn't hurt you._ " The Duke didn't answer, but the man behind her lifted her off the ground as he had her mother only moments before. " _You're a monster_ ," she shouted through her tears. " _you're a monster, just like your son was a monster_."

Anne didn't see the punch to the side of the head that knocked her unconscious, nor did she see Athos fighting with everything he had to reach her. She didn't even see the other musketeers drag a berserk Athos away as reinforcements arrived. The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was the bright red pool of blood staining the ground...


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes: I can see your (very kind) reviews, although notifications of reviews can be a bit hit and miss, but as mentioned earlier I don't know how to respond on the review page...I'm old. We didn't have computers when I was a kid ;)**

 **Thank you again for reading, but especially those who take an extra minute or two to review xx**

d'Artagnan was worried. They'd had to drag a half mad Athos away from the town square; even they could not stand against 30 trained and armed militia, but he knew Athos. Even if the mission didn't demand they try to rescue Milady, there was no way he would abandon her. They had made it out of the town, only because the pursuers didn't seem interested in following beyond the town walls; much to Athos's disgust. He'd been ready to mount a full frontal assault on the Duke's home, the prison and probably France itself if necessary. d'Artagnan sighed. What they needed now was information. Only Athos was known to the Duke and his men, so he had sneaked back into the town to find Fournier. He had the address, directions from a badly hurting Athos, but with no way of knowing if they were still being hunted or if Fournier's home would be watched, he took his time, and scouted the area as best he could.

When he eventually knocked on his door, a wide eyed Fournier tried to close the door on him, but a quickly placed boot, prevented him. d'Artagnan pushed his way inside.

" _I don't know anything...I haven't helped her...I wouldn't...I'm the Duke's man_ " a terrified Fournier stammered.

d'Artagnan smiled at him for a moment. " _I'm not. I'm the King's man_." He paused to let that sink in. " _and, my friends and I intend to rescue...Anne_ " He said feeling oddly disloyal to Constance for using he real name.

" _You claim to be working with my cousin, then I will call the guards and they will deal with you..._ " a still scared Fournier said, but when he made no attempt to move, d'Artagnan realised he wanted proof, he wasn't working for the Duke.

d'Artagnan smiled, although he knew that probably wasn't very reassuring. He'd removed anything that identified him as a musketeer before sneaking back into the town. Yet he had brought part of his shoulder armour with him, for just this reason. Wordlessly he pulled his pauldron from under his shirt and showed it to the man in front of him.

" _We need information if we are to help her. Will you come with me, to meet the others?"_

 _Fournier looked torn. "I want to help, but...my mother is still alive. Do you understand? I have kept an eye on her Mother, as my Father did after Anne's Father died. They were brothers you see...but what you ask..."_

 _"_ _I won't lie to you Monsieur Fournier,"_ d'Artagnon began _, "it is dangerous. But we need your help. Anne needs your help."_

To d'Artagnan surprise he had just nodded, and fetched his cloak _. "Lead the way."_

They circled to the camp again so they could be sure they were not being followed and found a still distraught Athos pacing in the temporary camp they had set up. Aramis caught d'Artagnan eye and held it for a moment. 'Tread carefully' was the message. Aramis invited Fournier to sit, apologising for the lack of refreshments, but they could not risk a fire. Fournier started to say it was no matter but Athos broke in

"Tell me about my wife"

Fournier looked confused "Your wife? You are the...you are Athos?"

Athos knew he'd been about to say 'the Compte'. He digested this information for a moment. "It seems Monsieur Fournier, you know significantly more about me, than I do about you." His volume rising with his temper "I suggest you rectify it whilst you can still..."

"Enough Athos!" d'Artagnan broke in firmly. He could see his friend's pain, but he could also see how scared Fournier still was; terrorising him wasn't going to help. Athos still staring menacingly at Fournier, moved back and allowed d'Artagnan to take the lead.

"I'm not trying to withhold anything Monsieur, I am just not sure what you already know...I...I don't want to tell you stuff you know..." Fournier gushed.

d'Artagnon smiled humourlessly at him again, before saying "Assume we don't know anything and start at the beginning."

"But what is the beginning? Do you mean when you dropped the money at my house, do you mean when Anne left us, or do you mean when she was born?" a still nervous Fournier asked.

"You said she was your cousin? Start there." d'Artagnan told him.

Fournier nodded, nervously glancing at Athos.

Fournier began with the story of how his father and uncle had travelled to Paris with his brother, as he wanted to become a priest. On their return, they had been attacked by bandits and left for dead. When he awoke he found they had been saved by a small family of Gypsies. This was how he'd met Anne's mother Marija. Athos listened intently. He heard Fournier tell of how wonderful Anne's mother had been, a vibrant woman always with a smile and a song, she always had a pastry or sweetmeat ready for a growing boy. Athos couldn't help but wish he had met Anne's mother; she sounded a lot like the woman he had married.

Fournier explained sadly how Anne had lost her father so young, and how the atmosphere in their home had changed. How Anne had changed. " _and of course without her father's income, Marija was forced to find work at the Chateaux. My dad helped out as best he could, but we were poor_..."

He paused not sure how to continue, "The younger kids would play in the meadow during the summer. Of course we didn't know then...we didn't know he liked them young. Anne she was just trying to stop him. She didn't mean to hurt him. She was just a kid herself then..."

" _Are you saying_ " Athos interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm, as he came to his feet. " _That the Duke's son, raped my wife, when she was a child?"_

" _er...no. No. I...I thought you knew_..." Fournier stammered, glancing at d'Artagnan for support, he subconsciously moved away from Athos. " _It wasn't Anne, he attacked. Even at 10, she was too old for his..er ...tastes...It was Liselle. Her little sister..."_

Athos felt sick. In all his life he had never felt so angry. His instinct was to ride straight to the Duke and challenge him, but first he forced himself to try and listen to the rest of the story. How she had found Jaques hurting her sister and grabbed the first thing she had seen, a nearby rock, and hit him as hard as she could on the back of the head. She'd never denied what she'd done – why would she? She had been defending her sister, she was in the right, but the Duke had ordered the girls whipped and beaten in front of the whole village, before the 'trial'. Liselle had not survived. Fournier voice wavered, as he told them that sometimes, he could still hear their screams in his sleep. Fournier shook his head before continuing, not that you could call it a trial really.

The Duke had been judge and jury and after making a public statement about how his son had caught Anne and Liselle performing arcane acts of magic. He claimed the the girls had murdered him, to protect their true identities as witches in league with the devil himself. No one believed the Duke, but what could they do? He had an armed militia, and they were just village folk. Anne was to be executed the next day.

Athos couldn't take anymore. Already on his feet he needed to walk, to ride or to fight; to do something. As he reached the edge of the camp he heard d'Artagnan ask the question he had not. " _How old_?"

As he stalked away unseeing from the camp, Fournier's reply hit him in the chest:

" _6\. Liselle, was 6."_


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Not really a chapter, but doesn't quite fit at the end of the last one, or the start of the new, but I needed to put it somewhere lol. Consider it like the free but slightly melted chocolate you get with a coffee sometimes. It's okay, because it's free, but you wouldn't buy it xx**

D'Artagnan watched a tormented Athos walk out of the camp, grateful he hadn't gone for his horse. At least on foot he was slightly less likely to assault the gaol single handedly. He listened to how Anne had been rescued by his father, who had worked on building of the old cells. They had rescued her, and taken her to her grandfather but the Duke's men had followed the trail. His own father had died rather than give Anne up. After that they lost touch with Anne for a long time, as she was moved around in the Gypsy community. Occasional messages were received, usually just saying she was safe, but everyone knew she would never be able to return home.

Eventually as she got older she didn't want to run anymore. Having stumbled across her cousin a few years before, the elder Fournier brother, now had own church, she came to live with him; until she met the Compte de la Fere.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Notes: Apologies for the very, very slow updates, my old computer finally died, and I lost everything I had already written, my plan and my notes. I waited for a tech friend to look at it, hoping it was salvageable, but sadly no, apparently 10 is old for computers. Irrationally, I was so upset I was struggling to get going again, and nearly abandoned the story. Does anyone else struggle once a series is known to be finishing, I'm like - what's the point? I wouldn't want to suggest it is like mourning a real living friend, but there was definitely a sense of loss.

Anyway, I cannot afford to replace my machine for a few months, although my sister said I can borrow 'ONE of her laptops' for a while, but she lives 80 miles away, so I have to wait until she comes to see our Dad, don't hold your breath as it could be code for 'no chance in hell'.

I tried to finish it on my phone, but apparently I have huge hulk-like hands, because I hit three keys per letter. So I am trying to rewrite and edit on paper - it's not going well, and then get to the nearest city, as they have closed all our local libraries, to then type them out and upload, but again this costs a small fortune in bus fares, and with work, the kids etc, I'm not able to come into town often because I get so little free time - sigh.

Rant over! Here's what I have so far.

Chapter 12

As d'Artagnan returned from seeing Fournier home, he couldn't help but contemplate how Milady had gone from what Fournier described as a bright and happy childb to the woman he had first met on his journey to Paris years ago. He didn't trust Milady, nor could he forgive her, for her part in endangering Constance, but his compassionate nature and his innate sense of what was right, hurt his heart as he imagined a badly traumatised little girl, losing her father, sister and in many ways her mother.

With a sigh, he forced himself to concentrate on their mission. To say that Athos was handling things badly was an understatement, and although d'Artagnan couldn't blame him, right now they needed his tactical experience. Fournier had known the cells were in the older part of the Duke's manor house, but he didn't know the layout or how well it would be guarded. d'Artagnan suspected fairly well, given that a ten year old Anne had already escaped once. In fact on the balance of what they did and didn't know, it was not looking too good. They didn't know for sure if Anne had been killed straight away. Although he thought it unlikely, he suspected he would want something more public for the Gypsy child who had outwitted him so long ago. More importantly, they also didn't know how they were going to storm a heavily guarded, semi fortified manor, nor if they managed to liberate Anne, how they would evade the small army of mercenaries working for the Duke. They definitely needed Athos.

Yet when he reached the camp, he was surprised and relieved to see Athos back, and alert; even if the anger was still visible in his body. He looked up as d'Artagnan entered the camp, catching his eye and nodding once. D'Artagnan breathed an internal sigh of relief; he was back under some sort of control; for now at least. d'Artagnan took a deep breath and outlined the beginnings of a plan...


	13. Chapter 13

Athos had listened quietly to d'Artagnan's idea. He'd said nothing when Aramis or he had made suggestions or comments, he'd just sat there starting at d'Artagnan watching the doubt play on his face. Decoy or rescue team. He knew d'Artagnan was hoping he would go with Aramis to find Anne whilst he and Porthos created as much of a distraction as possible. Yet Athos was torn. He knew whoever went with Porthos would be most likely to see the Duke and he wanted that to be him. Almost more than he wanted to rescue Anne: almost. The last time he'd seen her she had been hurting. The memory of her scream and the image of her rocking her mother's body still haunted him. Through the haze of tightly controlled rage he knew he'd chosen the wrong path once before; jealousy, anger and a confused sense of duty, rather than his distraught wife. This time he would chose her. He would find her, and he would save her. The Duke would wait.

An hour after dark, Aramis and Athos found themselves scaling the high wall which circled the Duke's residence. Following the sketchy information Fournier had given them, they knew they had to skirt to the East side of the property where Anne was most likely to be kept. Fournier said he'd heard people who had family waiting to be executed had sometimes been able to speak to, or got messages to loved ones as there was a series of grated openings to the cells, allowing the condemned to see their gallows and the fate of other inmates. Their first priority was to locate Anne and let her know they were coming for her, then wait for the very noisy distraction that Porthos and d'Artagnan had planned before rendezvousing at the agreed point. Simple...

They kept to the shadows as much as they could, using the cover of trees and shrubbery, they moved towards where they hoped Anne was being held. The house had originally been a large manor house, but with the growth in the area, the current Duke had extended and modified it, until it looked to the untrained eye like a grand castle. Yet the Duke was more vain than practical, the defensive features were either decorative or not utilised efficiently. Athos heard Aramis tut a few times, and mutter about the sloppy attitude of the guards, but Athos wondered if it was deliberately left slack as part of a trap. Pushing that thought from his mind, they finally reached the area Fournier had described. The grates were low to the outside world. Aramis kept watch as Athos tried to peer inside, but the darkness inside was engulfing. So instead, hoping he could fool anyone guarding her, he called out softly, 'Milady'. At first he heard nothing, he tried again and after a second was rewarded with the sound of slow, heavy movement inside.

 _"_ _Athos?"_ a small, hoarse voice asked from the darkness?

A pale, delicate hand appeared through the bars, and he grasped it urgently. He took a deep, steadying breath and held it for a moment, releasing it slowly as he let go of his greatest fear; that she was already gone from him. With the relief audible in his voice, he said simply:

 _"_ _Anne."_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 Once more, Athos found himself consumed by his own rage. He had found her. He had been determined that he would do the right thing this time and put his wife before his emotions; but it had been denied him. She'd made it clear he couldn't save her. As he replayed her words in his mind he knew: all he had left, was revenge.

' _Athos_ '.

He could hear the sorrow in her voice and his heart ached for her, he wanted to hold her and tell her it was all going to be okay, but time was short so instead he started to tell her the plan, but she had cut him off.

" _Athos_ ", her voice had sounded small, and far away. " _You need to ask me your questions_."

He'd frowned, not sure what she meant.

" _For the King_ ," she explained, as though reading his mind. " _Ask me. I'll tell you what I can_."

Alarm bells had rung in his mind, but he would not listen to them, instead he told her patiently that they would get her out. That they had the horses ready, and that she could speak to the King herself; but she had stopped him again.

" _Athos_ ," her voice had wavered, Athos remembered and he stopped, fearing what she might say. " _I'm hurt_."

He'd tried to tell her it was okay, that he would help her, that he would carry her if needed, but once more she had stopped him.

" _Athos. It's bad_." This time he could hear the pain in her breathing, and the acceptance behind her words; as she continued to speak he could also hear the sorrow and the bravery.

" _I cannot walk, and I cannot ride, I'm done Athos, there is no escape this time and I have made my peace with that. You have to leave me. Please."_

Athos said nothing but his mind reeled, as the weight of her words hit him in the chest and he fought to breathe.

" _Ask me your questions. Let me do this for you. Let me help you complete your mission...Please_."

Athos felt numb, unwilling to face the implications of her words, he heard himself ask if she knew anything of the threat from the Duke of Lesier. She'd paused and he could almost hear her thinking. He could see in his mind's eye, the look of concentration on her face as she tried to remember what the Cardinal had told her, and what she had learned through her own means. She hadn't known much, but what she had known painted a grave picture for their king. Assassination and a coup could put the Duke as guardian of the dauphin, effectively placing him as king in all but name.

The cardinal was wily though, none of his people knew the full plan, everyone worked independently or in small groups and the information was compartmentalised so often no one knew the real or full plan, although Milady had made keen observations on how the traitors could cause the most damage. He told the others everything about what she had told him, then instructed them to get to Paris. To save the king and finish the mission. If he could, he would meet them later; but somehow he didn't think that was likely.

He might not be able to save Anne, but he wouldn't leave her. He couldn't. If she was to die here, then he would make his stand too; and what better way than to bring down the man responsible for so much of Anne's pain. He might not be able to save her, but he would avenge her if it was the last thing he did. He almost laughed at the thought, knowing it probably would be the last thing he did; after years of praying for death, he finally started to think about the future. Yet here he was heading off to certain death, but God help him, he wasn't going down without a fight.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The original plan had been in two parts. Firstly, a distraction, the warehouse full of wine ready for delivery being the obvious place to start; secondly, to rescue Milady. Now they were in disarray. Athos had ordered them back to Paris, saying their prime duty was to the King and to France. As Athos gave the order, saying he would meet them in Paris, the others had merely looked at each other. Knowing there would be no reasoning with him. Porthos has looked to the others with a question in his eyes? Aramis had been tempted. Let Porthos knock Athos unconscious, and drag him back to Paris, then return with half the regiment to challenge the Duke.

But even to save Athos's life he couldn't do it. He knew Athos would see it as a betrayal. Not just of his brothers, but of Athos to Anne. They had learned a long time ago that were Anne was concerned Athos's feelings were...complicated. He still carried a lot of guilt, a lot of anger and pain; but also so much love for the woman who awaited execution in the cells nearby.

Aramis's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone approaching; he frowned, wondering why the appallingly bad guards would suddenly start doing sweeps of the grounds...

Porthos had never seen the point of worrying; he'd grown up in the Court of Miracles, and if he'd learned one thing, it was how to survive. They had a plan, they had each other, and they had been in far more dangerous situations than this and pulled each other through. He knew they would again, so why second guess everything? Follow orders and get the job done; that's what made him a good soldier...but watching Athos, tonight, he wasn't quite so confident.

Having spoken to Milady, Athos had abandoned the plan completely for suicide and revenge. Not that Porthos blamed him; in fact he was fairly sure he would have started with that. It wasn't that he was stupid, although he certainly didn't have Athos's fancy education or Aramis's knack for smooth words. He just took a bit longer to think things through as sometimes his temper kicked in before his brain. The regiment had saved him; Treville had saved him. Now he hoped he could save Athos as he headed to confront the Duke...


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: I have borrowed a very kind friend's netbook for a few weeks. I'm struggling with the smaller keyboard slightly and some of the keys stick, so apologies for missing even more typos. I do proof read, but unfortunately I read what I intended to write, rather than what my fingers typed. Rembmer I said I wouldn't watch the new series until this was finished - I'm regretting that now!

 **Thank you for reading xx**

Chapter 16

He stood before the great doors to the Duke's home. Watching. Waiting. Slowly those who inside began to notice him, and he became aware of movement behind windows, and scurrying on the battlements. He smiled to himself. His plan required an audience. Firing a single musket shot into the air, he waited again. He had all night; he had the rest of his life.

After a moment soldiers came to the door, stopping when they saw the man aiming a second musket at them.

" _I am the Compte de la Faire,"_ he announced, making sure his voice carried _, "I challenge the Duke to a duel between gentlemen – although I am not sure he is qualified"._

The men at the door way looked at each other and blinked. They might be willing to murder peasants, but the punishment for laying hands on a member of the aristocracy was a cruel and drawn out death. If the stranger who stood before them really was a Compte that changed things. As Athos expected, they disappeared to see what the Duke's orders were. After a moment Athos, continued loudly:

" _The Duke is a coward. An abuser of women and of children. A monster. I, the Compte de la Faire, am here, to ensure justice is done. Will the coward face me_?"

Athos knew that had he been a mere soldier, the Duke could have him 'handled', but someone of rank, could not be ignored. Certainly not now the servants and soldiers had seen and heard the challenge. The Duke had no choice but to face the man before him.

Athos was just about to begin another series of insults, when the door opened and the Duke appeared...

Anne lay curled up on the floor of her cell, eyes closed struggling to breathe, drifting in and out of consciousness as she waited for the men to come and take her to her execution. She couldn't help but wonder at her life coming full circle. How she had lay in the same cell, on the same floor what seems like a lifetime ago. A part of her wished she could go back and end things there rather than live through all the pain and horror she had experienced; but then, she would not have met Athos...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet scuffle outside the door, realising that it was time, she tried to sit up, but the room spun fast and her head returned to the cold hard floor with a bump. As the darkness took her again, she imagined she could hear Aramis call her name and was momentarily saddened, that must have died too...

Porthos wasn't sure if Athos's plan was genius or madness, although being a soldier he was not that there was ever a difference. He remembered watching Athos train with d'Artagnan, helping him manage his anger before the fight with Labarge, teaching him to harness and control the emotions, not be led by them. Athos was definitely being led now. However he could also see Athos manipulating the Duke's emotions too, his sense of honour and pride, but the whole Compte thing was a gamble. Athos might have been the best swordsman in Paris, but the Compte was known as one of the best in the whole of France. Somehow he couldn't see the duke playing fair; which was why he was bashing heads as he made his way to the battlements. Not that there was much resistance, most of the staff fled as soon as they saw the look in his eye; shame really.

Anne groaned in pain, as she became aware of being lifted. Semi conscious she couldn't understand why her gaolers were being gentle. Blinking through the mental fog, she realised the voices she could hear belonged to Aramis and d'Artagnan. " _Where's Athos?"_ She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

" _He's gone to face the Duke_ " Aramis told her quietly as they lay her down on a makeshift stretcher.

" _No...he can't_..." she tried again, " _stop him_ "

" _Hush, let's get you safe first_ ,"

" _No, you have to stop him, leave me. Save Athos_ " Despite her injuries Anne tried to turn over towards the edge of the stretcher. Realising she was trying to crawl off, Athos put his hand on her arm.

" _He will not leave without you Anne. To save Athos we have to save you. Let us do this. Let us save you_ "

Anne looked at Aramis for a moment, clearly torn. Closing her eyes against the nausea, she lay back down as Aramis continued, " _Anne I have a tincture here, it will help with the pain. We will try and be gentle, but we have to move fast if we're to get to Athos. It will let you sleep_ ".

" _but if we are captured or attacked I can't do anything..."_ she trailed off, realising how little she could do if they were attacked right now.

" _We will defend you Anne_ ", d'Artagnan spoke for the first time, " _You have my word_ "

Anne looked at him sharply. He never used her name, she was always Milady to him. She understood it, respected it even. She could admire the loyalty and devotion he showed to Constance. It was how her and Athos should have been, a pure version of their love.

" _We don't have much time" Aramis urged, "we have to go now, whether you drink it or not, but we will move faster if we are not worried about you crying out_ ".

With a nod, she took the bottle and with Aramis's help, sat up enough to drink it down quickly, the effort leaving her gasping for breath. Already woozy, Anne's final words as she closed her eyes, was a mumbled: " _You have to save him. You have to. Don't let him die because of me_."

The duke stepped out into the courtyard to face Athos, still fixing his sword belt. He eyed Athos defiantly. " _Where is this Compte to challenge me? All I see is a thief, pretending to be a musketeer. Be off with you or I'll have my men take care of you_."

" _I am the Compte de la Faire, and I challenge you Sir_ " Athos smiled. He knew the Duke would try and avoid a one to one fight, but he also knew he could not afford to lose face in front of his men; that was the problem with mercenaries, their loyalties could be fickle. They were as likely to stand with him, as to turn on him. Athos continued to bait, " _Unless you are a coward? Are you a coward Sir? Because the story I have heard is that you protect child molesters, abuser of women and children. That sounds like the actions of a bully. A bully and a coward. Is that what you are Duke? Someone who only fights the weak._ "

The Dukes face darkened with anger, and with a scowl he stepped towards Athos, " _The Compte de la Faire, is dead."_

Athos just smiled as they both swung their swords, " _Then you have nothing to fear from his ghost"._


	17. Part 2, Ch 1

**I cannot say how sorry I am for the long delay, the loan of the netbook was very brief, but the biggest issue was I couldn't rewrite the chapters I had lost. It just didn't flow for me and although I knew how the story ended it just wouldn't let me tell it. I've never had writer's block before, and didn't really understand it, so there's that learned I guess. This ending is sort of the same; but sort of different. Exactly the same things happens, same people, same events, but written from Athos's memory. I just couldn't reproduce the 'real time' story I began. It's annoying, and although it flows, to my mind it flows differently – hence I've called it Part 2.**

 **There is one MAJOR difference though. The original story had two endings. The happy ever after, and then an after story drabble with an angsty twist and other ending. Now you're stuck with the other ending, and we learn about how the happy ending, ended...still with me?**

 **Thank-you everyone for reading. Reviews, comments, complaints welcome x**

 _The tired, weathered old soldier rode steadily through the never ending rain, as the thunder rolled in the distance. He sighed, trying to stretch in the saddle, failing to ease the ache in his now stooping back, and wondered how long it was since he last had a hot meal and a real bed. 3 days? 4? He sighed as lightening streaked across the sky, followed closely by a deep thunderous rumble, cursing under his breath, he wondered for the hundredth time how he had ended up here. He had been happy; they had been happy, but once again, he had thrown it all away. Once again he let his jealousy and insecurities take everything from him. His horse plodded on, as his mind replayed the events since that night, so long ago…_

He'd challenged the Duke. Half mad with anger and grief, even his brothers had not tried to reason with him. Instead, to his eternal gratitude they had planned and fought; for him.

As soon as the Duke stepped towards him, Athos could see he was no threat. As heir to his father's estates, Athos had trained with the sword since early childhood. The Duke potentially could have had the same or even superior training but Athos not only had a natural aptitude, he had spent years honing his skills in the Regiment, and on the battlefield. He might speak of him as the best in Paris; but Treville quietly suspected he was the best in all of France.

Not that the Duke was taking any chances, far more used to having the hired mercenaries do his dirty work whilst he enjoyed all his position had to offer, growing fat and lazy in the process, any skill the Duke may have had with a sword was as flabby as he was. Porthos however, took great delight in throwing the henchmen with a crossbow at the top of the wall off the battlements. Athos grimaced at the thought; the family lacked even the pretence of honour.

 _The horse whinnied softly, as the storm rolled slowly closer, and the rumbling grew louder. The grey bearded warrior rubbed his tired eyes, wondering when he finally gotten old. It didn't seem like five minutes since he'd taken his oath to serve in the King's Musketeers, yet here he was cursing his arthritic bones and failing eyesight, miles from anywhere, still chasing the ghosts of his past. He patted the horse's neck, wondering if he should find shelter now before the storm caught up with them, but stubbornly, he pressed on…_

You could barely call it a fight. Athos could have ended it within moments, but instead he did what he once urged d'Artagnon not to; he allowed his anger to rule his actions. He had taunted the Duke, played with him. Waited until the Duke realised his back up plan had failed, and then he had demonstrated exactly how outclassed he was. He watched the Duke's arrogance turn to uncertainty, then fear, and still Athos had not ended it. In hindsight, his actions were not those of a gentleman, but his conscience had never been troubled by the knowledge. The Duke had earned every ounce of his humiliation, and Athos spared him nothing. He'd wanted to kill the Duke of course, to take everything from him. To shame and degrade him. To crush his spirit until he lost all hope; but actually he knew it meant very little. He would kill the Duke certainly, but the Duke's men would not allow him to leave the square alive. Yet that had not mattered to Athos; he was only the distraction. The real mission was to save Anne; and save her they had…

 _As lightening lit up the sky, a crack of thunder sounded closely behind him. The old man knew the storm was almost upon them, and he briefly regretted not finding shelter earlier before becoming soaked to the skin. However if his information was correct he was only a few miles from his destination, and hopefully the end of his long quest._

Athos could not bring himself to pity the Duke at the end, but once his anger had been sated he took no joy from it; merely saw it as the duty. Much like putting down a rabid dog. He was aware as the Duke fell that that his men had closed in, and he knew that he could not stand against so many, but before he knew what was happening he became aware of a great commotion. Turning to face this new threat he blinked as the square became over ran with a large band of gypsies, whose bright clothing and dance like movements confused the eyes of those trying to follow. Unsure of exactly what was happening, he recognised Fournier moving quickly towards him. Throwing a bright, multi-coloured cloak around his shoulders, he guided the stunned Athos towards the edge of the village, and safety.

 _He could not hear the dogs over the noise of the storm, and only caught sight of the look out by chance. Definitely too old for this he thought, annoyed with himself and his failing body but his energy renewed by hope. But as he neared the camp, all he could see was memories…_


	18. Part 2, Ch 2

Fournier had whisked him to a nearby grove where the other musketeers soon arrived behind a covered Gypsy caravan moving slow and steady. He started immediately towards it, but a tired d'Artagnon drew him aside.

"She is alive, but weak." The younger man told him, "she's still asleep from the tincture but the healer is with her – a cousin, I'm told. Athos," he paused, holding his eye for a moment, "they are not sure if she will regain consciousness..."

 _Athos grimly started towards the wagon but found his way barred by a stern looking woman, whose features echoed those of his wife._

 _"No" She told him in heavily accented French. "You stay." She frowned and waved to someone behind him._

 _Athos took a deep breath, and was about to protest when the woman crossed her arms and spoke firmly. "You stay. We…" she paused frowning, trying to find the words. "Our father's father… He fighter." She mimed boxing, pulling a stern face. "We know this…pain…hurt…. You. Stay. We…help."_

About to protest he was aware of Aramis and another man approaching from either side of him. The tall, well built Gypsy stood slightly behind the woman and frowned at him. Not quite threateningly, but he made it clear he would not allow him to pass.

Aramis, laid his hand on Athos's shoulder. "Come, you need to hear this." He told him gently, "let them do their work."

Athos was about to resist, needing to see Anne, even if she didn't know he was there, but with his mind in turmoil, Aramis had drawn him away before he realised what was happening…

 _The old man dismounted, groaning at the effort it took, and the pain that it caused. Using the saddle to steady himself, he walked towards the camp, hoping that finally, this would be the right one. The site was quiet, but he knew the call had already gone out. That they would have watchers scout around to see if he was alone. A single warrior of his age, they might not consider a great threat, but still he noticed there were no children visible yet the number of wagons told him this was a medium to large family group, probably of several generations. Experience sadly, had taught them the value of caution. He stopped just short of the camp, calling a greeting he had learned all those years ago, he began to wait._

 _After only a minute a broad shouldered man only a few years younger than he, appeared and walked slowly towards Athos with a frown. "You're not one of us." He told Athos, eying him suspiciously. "What do you want?"_

 _"I'm looking for a woman", he paused, as the man snorted. "You may know her, her name is Anne, or sometimes Annie. She is, I believe, kin to some here"._

 _"Our women are not for sale." the man told him brusquely, "Go find one of your own women. A man your age should not be running around the countryside. It's not safe"._

 _"I…" Athos paused. He was not sure he could explain his need to find her, he just knew he must. "…I just need to know she is okay. We were family once too, and…" He trailed off knowing his full explanation would not encourage them to help him._

 _The man narrowed his eyes, and stared at him for a moment, his face unreadable. Without a word, he reached out to shake hands with a surprised Athos._

 _"Then, you must be Athos," with a slight shake of his head he smiled and added. "Ah, she said you would come…"_


End file.
